


it's good for us depressives to keep someone else alive

by merricks



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Platonic Cuddling, look. i know. i know okay i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merricks/pseuds/merricks
Summary: Some extremely self-indulgent bullshit in which Jay's OCD is flaring up, Tim just wants to sleep, and a certain amount of tenderness occurs, but not, like, in a romantic way. Also in which I bully Jay relentlessly. He deserves it.
Relationships: tim wright & jay merrick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	it's good for us depressives to keep someone else alive

**Author's Note:**

> there's hatred at the window / try not to be distracted / we're two subjective cameras / blinking truths at each other

By the third time Tim heard Jay getting up in the middle of the night, he was beginning to think something was off. He’d originally blamed insomnia--not like Tim was exactly sleeping like a baby either--but that theory quickly fell apart. For one thing, Jay barely spent any time at all actually trying to sleep, even less than it would take someone who  _ wasn’t  _ living in this nightmare to doze off. Hardly a few minutes passed before he launched himself out of bed and started pacing and, more disconcertingly, checking the cameras and rewatching tapes over and over again. In the same order. 

The rituals made Tim worry that maybe the same thing that had gotten ahold of Alex had its grip on Jay too, but that didn’t make sense either, because he never left the hotel room or got violent or started scribbling any cryptic charcoal drawings. He didn’t seem to be in any sort of trance while he was doing it; actually, his expression grew increasingly frustrated as the night wore on. Sometimes he’d finally appear satisfied and climb back into bed, only to drag himself out again a few minutes later. 

There was something about the whole situation that struck Tim as familiar. He researched a few terms and confirmed his suspicions as to what the cause might be. Now to bring it up to the stubbornest, least self-reflective man in the universe.

“Jay,” Tim started one day as they were packing up to head to another hotel, “I have kind of a weird question for you.”

“Uh, okay,” Jay said, shoving a pair of jeans unceremoniously into his duffel bag. 

“Well, you know that I...was diagnosed with a lot of stuff as a kid. Mental illnesses. I was wondering if you ever, uh…”

“What?”

“Did you ever get diagnosed with anything? Like that?”

Jay set down the box of tapes (which he was handling much more carefully than any of his other possessions) and leveled his gaze at Tim. “Are you still on about that? I told you, I’m fine.”

“No, no, okay, I still think you should talk to someone about the hallucinations, but--”

“They aren’t hallucinations, unless we’re all having some kind of mass hysteria or something. All of this can be blamed on that _thing_. I mean, your whole...childhood was its fault.”

Tim shook his head vehemently. “No. Whatever that is, it made my life hell. But I’m not talking about that right now. Demonic fucker in a suit or no, I still have depression. I still have anxiety. Hell, I might even still have schizophrenia without that thing around. I have no idea, but I do know I can’t blame all of it on that. Even if...even if it’s easier to.”

Jay directed his eyes at the carpet like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “What’s your point?” he asked. 

“My point? You need help. You’ve probably needed it for a lot longer than all this has been going on.” Jay’s face reddened as he continued to glare holes into the floor. “I’ve noticed you doing some weird stuff at night, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the thing in the suit.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Jay snapped, instantly defensive.

“Hey, don’t turn this on me. You said it yourself, it’s hard to trust anyone, especially when they’re pacing around doing God knows what all night. We’ve both done plenty of suspicious shit, so...just hear me out, okay?”

Reluctantly, Jay nodded, breaking eye contact again. 

“Are you getting anything done at night? Finding anything new?”

“Yes. Or at least, I...I don’t know. It’s worth looking.”

“Is it?” 

“It’s not like we’re getting anywhere otherwise,” he insisted.

“Can you even stop at this point? Do you know how?”

“What are you talking about? Yeah, obviously I could stop, I’m just trying to get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Look, Jay, I’m just gonna go out and say it. Have you ever considered that you might have OCD?”

“Are you being serious right now?” Jay looked up, deep shadows cast onto the grooves of his deep set eyes by the brim of his hat. “I’m trying to be careful because our  _ lives  _ are on the line, not because there’s something wrong with me.”

Tim chose not to be insulted by that phrasing. “You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it? Not at all?”

“I...okay, sure, I’ve looked it up. But just because I have some tendencies or whatever doesn’t mean anything. It’s not bad enough to...to merit that.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not good for you. It’s not good for me, either. I can’t sleep at night with you up making that much noise.”

“This is the  _ best  _ thing for both of us.” Jay’s volume escalated. “This is--if I don’t do this--I  _ have _ to do this, if I don’t--”

“If you don’t, what?” Tim asked flatly. “What will happen? I’d love to know.”

“Why are you being such an asshole?”

“Why are  _ you _ freaking out so much, if you really believe what you’re saying?”

Jay deflated. Tim felt a strange mixture of pride for having won the argument and regret for having forced him to reckon with his own fucked-up-ness, even if just for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry. It could be nothing. But will you try, tonight, to just stay in bed? For both of our sakes? We’re not gonna be able to figure anything out if we die from sleep deprivation.”

“Yeah,” Jay said tersely. “I’ll stay in bed.”

To his credit, Jay managed to go for a solid half an hour or so before he got up. Tim had almost dozed off when heard the telltale clicking of the keyboard that meant his investigation partner was scouring the tapes for the trillionth time. For once, Tim didn’t pretend not to notice.

“Jay,” Tim said loudly. Jay’s shoulders shot up to his ears. 

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, simultaneously guilty and resentful.

“Yeah, well, I thought you were, too.” Tim sat up. “What happened to staying in bed?”

Jay slouched down in the chair, his eyes still trained on the screen. He was clicking through the videos in the same order he always did, skipping back to rewatch the same five seconds again and again. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said robotically.

“Look at me.” Jay paused his typing, but didn’t shift his gaze. Even from several feet away, Tim could see his fingers trembling on the keyboard. “Jay, look at me.”

“One second,” he said, clicking on the next video. His voice was stretched thin. In the dim light of the computer, his face looked almost skeletal. Tim couldn’t help but be reminded of his own gaunt reflection on plenty of sleepless nights before this one.

“Jay, I--”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” he said desperately. “You were right, I can’t. Just let me do this. Please, just let me do this.” Seeing no way to deescalate the situation without direct action, Tim stood and crossed the room. Ignoring Jay’s opposition, he pried the laptop away and shut it. Jay’s breathing quickened. “Don’t, don’t do that. Give it back. Tim, give it back.”

Tim had no idea what to do. All he knew was that he couldn’t let Jay keep going on like this. He had no desire to take care of the guy; he had enough trouble taking care of himself, and God knows Jay hadn’t done much to earn his kindness. But there he was, shouting nonsense and grabbing at the laptop with shaky hands, and Tim wasn’t heartless, after all, so he cursed himself for being so damn sympathetic and said “Okay, okay, hold on.”

He scanned the walls of the room and quickly spotted a painting hanging above Jay’s bed. Still clutching the laptop tightly under one arm, he climbed atop the mattress and gestured to the painting. “Alright, look, I’m going to try something. Just humor me.” He ran his free hand along the top of the frame. “When my hand is here, you’re gonna breathe in. While it’s on one of the sides, you’ll hold your breath. And when it’s on the bottom, breathe out. Okay?” 

Jay, who had leapt out of his seat as Tim walked away but hadn’t followed him onto the bed, looked utterly livid, but at least he wasn’t yelling anymore. Tim steeled himself. “Okay. Here we go. In.” As he slowly moved his hand across the top of the frame, mentally counting to four, he inhaled deeply. He could see Jay reluctantly take in a breath as well. “Hold it,” he said, as his hand travelled down the right side. “Breathe out.”  _ 2, 3, 4.  _ “Hold.”  _ 2, 3, 4.  _ “In.”

  1. _1,2,3,4. hold. 1,2,3,4. out. 1,2,3,4. in. 1,2..._



Tim wasn’t sure how many times his hand made its slow voyage around the picture frame, but he could sense the violent terror leaching out of the air with it, gradually, until nothing remained but a tepid atmosphere of uncertainty. After a second of frozen silence, Tim lowered his arm. “I think we’re done.”

Jay dropped his dead-eyed stare from the picture frame to the floor and muttered something that could have been a ‘thank you’. 

“Anytime,” Tim replied, and kind of meant it. A part of him was amused that after a dozen years of therapy the one thing that actually ended up preventing a crisis was a breathing exercise he learned at age 9. But hey, if it kept his roommate from doing whatever impulsive shit he was doubtlessly planning to get his compulsions back on track, well, he’d take it. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Jay said. He rethought his statement for a second and let out a bark of laughter at its absurdity. “Yeah, I’m--I’m doing great. Best ever. Best…best I’ve ever been.”

Tim shrugged and sat down on the bed. Jay’s entire being twitched a little bit as he held himself back from lunging for the precious cargo still stowed under Tim’s arm. “At least you’re not screaming at me anymore.”

Gingerly, Jay took a seat, leaving two feet of space between them. “Can we just pretend this never happened?”

“Sure, until it happens again.” Jay opened his mouth to protest, but Tim beat him to the punch. “Can you actually promise me--no bullshit--that you won’t get up and do all that again tonight?”

In a voice Tim had never heard him use before, defeated enough that it lost its usual drawling sharpness, Jay said “I guess not.” Tim dragged his hands over his face. God, he needed a smoke. 

“Okay, well, what if something held you back?”

“I’m not following.”

“Literally. If something kept you from getting up, physically, would the...need to do it pass? Eventually?”

“Are you suggesting tying me to the bed?”

Both of them, in unison, forced themselves to overcome the tremendous ordeal of not making a dumbass sex joke, because they were adults and this was  _ really  _ not the time. (If Brian was there, he would’ve jumped at the chance to yell ‘that’s what she said.’ Tim really, really wished Brian was there.) “Just answer the question, Jay.”

“I mean, yeah, probably. I’m definitely not going to do  _ that,  _ though--”

“I’m not saying you should,” Tim cut in hurriedly.

“Then what are you saying?” 

“I--okay. This will sound weird, but I promise I don’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to come on to you, I just don’t see any other--”

“Are you trying to no homo me, Tim?” Jay quipped. “Because you can just say it and save us both the time.” 

Tim snorted. “I’m definitely homo,” he said. “Just not towards you.”

“That’s fair,” Jay said. “I guess...same here?”

Tim could feel his brain cells dying in droves.“I’ll just ask. What if we shared a bed? For the night, or until you--until it gets easier. I’m a light sleeper; if I notice you getting up, I’ll stop you.”

Jay raised his eyebrows.“Who’s to say I wouldn’t just fight you off?”

The idea of the beanpole sitting next to Tim trying to wage a physical battle against literally anyone was almost comical.“Jay, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I could probably throw you ten yards. You won’t fight me off.”

Apparently possessed by a rare moment of self-awareness, Jay chuckled and said “yeah, okay.”

“Of course you don’t have to,” Tim said, rapidly losing confidence. “It’s just an idea, I don’t exactly know what’s best in this situation. This is one of...very few of these things I don’t really have experience with. I just--”

“I said  _ okay,” _ Jay blurted. The tips of his ears turned fire-engine red. “I know you don’t mean anything by it. And your breathing rectangle helped somehow, so, who knows? It’s worth a try.”

Unfortunately, but far from surprisingly, the awkwardness of the situation only increased after the two of them got around to getting on the bed.  _ On,  _ because they were on top of the covers, pushed as far to either side of the bed as they could be without toppling over, with the only source of contact between them Tim’s arm slung over Jay’s shoulder so Tim would know if he moved. It wasn’t the worst setup in the world, though, and the exhaustion of the day quickly set in and pushed Tim into sleep. He didn’t get the chance to dream.

“Hey,” Tim said groggily as he felt his arm shifting. Jay was sitting up, eyes wide as dinner plates. His mouth moved soundlessly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just...bathroom,” Jay mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“No, you don’t.” Tim reached out and grabbed Jay’s forearm. Starting to look panicked again, Jay tried to yank himself away, but Tim’s grip was too strong.

“Let me _go_ , come on, let go of me. Tim, let me go. Stop grabbing me, come on--”  
“You agreed to this, remember?” Tim tried to sound firm, but he was rapidly losing resolve; maybe he should just let him keep doing his routine. It would be better than this, better than having to deal with him losing it over and over, better than trying to fucking _restrain someone,_ why the hell had he ever thought this would work? “You want...you want things to get better, right? I know you don’t want to keep doing this. Trust me, I...I know.” 

Jay heaved a huge breath and squeezed his eyes shut. A few frozen seconds passed, then he said, “Okay, you’re right. I’m not moving. Just let go of me, you’re going to bruise my arm.”  
Jay was a terrible liar, and he sounded sincere this time. Tim relinquished his grip. Jay remained perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing his wrist. “Did I hurt you?” Tim asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “I. I don’t think that if I move, I’m going to be able to...if I move, I’m going to get up. I can’t...do anything.”

Tim caught his drift. “Is it okay if I touch you?” he asked. Jay nodded jerkily. Keeping his movements as fluid and slow as possible, Tim gingerly wrapped both arms around Jay and pulled him back down onto the bed. He lay there, board-stiff, looking like a total fucking wreck (more so than usual, like how Tim felt after a nightmare or after finding himself in a strange place with no memory of how he got there.) Despite himself, Tim felt a surge of compassion, of familiarity. “Come here,” he said, and pulled Jay in tighter, back flush to his chest. At the slightest pressure from Tim’s arms all the tension in his body crumpled like a coke can. His breathing slowed and his head dropped, landing half-on, half-off of the pillow. “Are you okay?” Tim asked.

He took a long time to reply, but when he did, it was a small “yeah.”

Tim couldn’t help but wonder when the last time Jay had any human contact was. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure when  _ he  _ had last touched another person. He recalled vaguely a lesson he’d learned once upon a time in psych 101: that physical touch increases your oxytocin levels, that you need it to be healthy. No shocker that Tim wasn’t a paragon of wellness, then. He had to admit, there was something nice about the warmth emanating through Jay’s t-shirt in that chilly hotel room. 

There was something nice about not being alone. 


End file.
